An Act of Convenience
by McGonagall's Bola
Summary: A somewhat darker take on what might have been the nature between Albus and Minerva's personal relationship. AD/MM -REWRITTEN!


"Albus," she whispered, quietly pushing him away as he reached up to squeeze her cleavage, her neck assaulted by his mouth, and teeth. There was no time now for silly sweetness. He knew. She knew. "Albus," she repeated, turning around, but he only leaned in to assault her mouth with his, fingertips roaming across her sides, trying to pull every little thing off her figure. She finally pushed him a few inches away. "Albus. I'm not whom I used to be anymore," she whispered, tears filling up her teal green eyes.

A groan rumbled in his throat, and he aggressively ripped the fabric off her. It wasn't the very first time she had seen the Headmaster intoxicated. It wasn't the very first time that he came to her at night, hoping to find release; find peace. Last time something much alike this had occurred between them, Minerva had been much younger. One night, he had no longer come to her. She hadn't mentioned it to anyone, but she had assumed she just wasn't appealing enough anymore. That's why she didn't quite get why now. He hadn't come here like this in over thirty years, and now, when she had well reached over the age of seventy-five, he would come to find her again? He knew that she wouldn't push him away anymore if he just tried harder. She knew.

There had never been anything more but convenience between them, and Minerva had long accepted that. She wouldn't have denied him, had he sought for more. However, he never had showed the need for anything like that. Albus easily waved his hand, and she could hear the sound of the door to her office locking. Roughly, he pushed all her things off the desk, not caring that the essays Minerva had been busy grading got stained by the pot of ink breaking on top, and every little thing getting drenched by the navy blue liquid. Albus had never come to her like that in the middle of the day like now – a lazy Saturday afternoon in March when the nature surrounding Hogwarts began making itself ready to blossom again in the upcoming season, and when the pupils already dared to waste away the afternoons reading or making their essays at the lake, albeit with thick robes on against the wind that surely caused an occasional chill.

She gasped, as he roughly pushed his companion flat on the desk, reaching under her robes with one hand. She could feel the fabric of her knickers being moved aside, then his full length invading her sheath. She momentarily winced, having to stretch quite a bit to take him in. She never had shared the bed with anyone else but him, and it after all had been thirty years since their last collision like this. He roughly pinned her arms above her head, beginning to rut furiously into her. She just lay back accepting his impossibly hard thrusts, understanding his need for release, and understanding it wasn't about her right now. A tear slipped down her eyelashes into her hairline as he continued to pound into her deep. She would certainly be sore in the morning, and the force with which she mercilessly banged against the desk would leave bruises.

She didn't cry for what was happening; rather for what hadn't happened in all this time that she appeared to be the only one he trusted enough to allow this far. She cried for what had led them both here. Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn't it have been something entirely else that had driven them to this but his need for release, and her need to feel… like love?

A loud guttural scream, and the feel of his seed spilling in her announced his orgasm, and he soon collapsed atop of her. The shaking of his shoulders told her he must be crying, and made her feel bad for him. She tenderly raked her fingers through his hair, holding back her tears as much as was possible. The fingers in his hair tightened, and she intuitively captured her bottom lip between her clattering teeth, as he began kissing the side of one breast, then pulled a nipple in his mouth, and sucked, a hand paying homage to the other. He remained inside her as his hand felt its way down to where their bodies were joined, and he immediately found the sinewy button where her slick nether lips came together, and which would allow her to orgasm very fast if rubbed just right.

Minerva intuitively choose to swallow her many questions. It wasn't a time for questions. He wanted to just save his conscience. He wanted to just make himself believe that there wasn't any reason to be guilty if he now got her to the height of passion herself. He grew far rougher in his ministrations, and delight and pain joined in a row of brief, high cries.

She shattered underneath his touch sooner than ever. Albus might be called selfish in his pursuit of release; of peace, but no one would ever be able to say he wasn't quite experienced in what he did. He knew just what was going on within her. That made it impossible for the younger Minerva McGonagall to ever get upset with him – at least when she wasn't alone. After all, every collision like this between them, no matter the reason behind it, left both of them satisfied in the end. She wanted to be close to him, and no matter what had driven this union, she was when he came to her.

He certainly loved Minerva; more than she ever would be able to tell. He just couldn't allow her to know. She would convince him in her own way, and he would give in knowing she earned much more… Minerva would be in danger as long he lived, just for her connection with him. He rather not get into anything more romantic, and keep fooling himself that this wouldn't hurt her as much in the end.

As the waves of orgasm left Minerva's body, he momentarily leaned down to kiss her soundly, letting their mouths touch. That was the only time ever he allowed Minerva the touch of his lips against hers. He just hoped that that would be enough for her to forgive him, and it always was. It would be this time, too.


End file.
